


His and Theirs

by Vesperia



Category: Star Wars, Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Injury Recovery, M/M, Other, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Slow Build, Stormpilot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-13
Updated: 2016-01-14
Packaged: 2018-05-13 20:16:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5715697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vesperia/pseuds/Vesperia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Finn is recovering: from light saber wounds, from the panic that still fills his chest when he closes his eyes, from who and what he used to be... back then.<br/>But that doesn't matter now. Not while he's still alive, and Poe is too, taking care of him, almost like a friend. This is new. It's not something FN-2187 ever really had before. But Finn could get used to it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The first thing Finn hears when he wakes up is a voice he doesn’t think he recognizes. “Mr. Dameron,” it has said, but Finn is floating and drowning in turns, bobbing up from darkness but not cresting out of it. He cracks open an eye (the other one is more or less glued shut with who knows how many forevers of sleep), and realizes he is horizontal. A medbay bed, laid nearly flat. There is a humming that Finn doesn’t think is only in his head, and few different kinds of beeping that he’s sure aren’t. The unrecognized voice is talking to him, saying something gentle in a light and easy tone, but Finn’s head is throbbing, and his back feels like it has been taken apart vertebrae by vertebrae and put back together all wrong.

He blinks open his other eye and focuses at last on the medic who’s almost out of his line of sight, checking the readout on a machine near the foot of the bed. When he looks back up at Finn he smiles expectantly like he is awaiting a response.

Finn gives him a blank look. 

“I say, good morning, Mr. Dameron, what a great day to open one’s eyes at last!” He smiles at Finn who can’t really make sense of the conversation, least of all why the medic is addressing him by Poe’s last name. His brow furrows automatically as the medic waits with an expectant smile that begins to soften with worry.

Finn’s voice is gone — his throat is parched, he feels like that time on Jakku but there is no glorious trough of filthy water nearby. He can’t work words out of his mouth, so he points to himself, trying to clarify the fog in his brain that the doctor isn’t helping.

“Yes, you, Mr. Dameron,” the medic smiles. Finn is confused and tired and thirsty. The doctor smiles like he is a very small, very dear child. “You’ll drink some water if I bring it to you, I don’t doubt,” he says cheerfully, and Finn nods, head pulsing as he does, and the doctor disappears.

He comes back a few moments later as Finn is trying to work some saliva around in his mouth enough so that he can swallow, and he takes the glass eagerly from the doctor, weak hands and poor coordination causing him to spill nearly half of it down his front.

Finn doesn’t have the strength to struggle away from the doctor as he wipes at Finn’s mouth and chin with an antiseptic smelling napkin, and he resigns himself to just lying there as the doctor removes the damp blanket, and spins it around so the wet spot trails onto the floor instead.

“I’ll be back in a few with some medication I’ll need you to try to take,” he says. “Don’t try to move, right?”

Finn nods and watches the doctor’s retreating back until he is gone and all Finn can see is the ceiling and the the tops of the grey walls and the edges of all the machines that are buzzing and beeping (and maybe even keeping him alive, he vaguely considers). 

His head is still foggy. He doesn’t remember much. Snow. He remembers that. Lightsabers. A real jedi duel! Fear. Despair. Pain. So much pain. Just the memory of it hits him like an asteroid, making him woozy and then suddenly nauseous. He sees Rey’s body crumpled in the snow as he rolls over the side of the bed to vomit on the floor.

“Woah there, buddy!”

There is a hand behind him in his hair, another on his shoulder, and a foot kicks a little trash barrel out from under the bed in time to catch most of the vomit. 

Finn shakes with the sickness, the horrible fear and fiery nervousness almost worse, no definitely worse than the physical sensation of being sick, of his back and ribs seizing and aching with the motions of it. The hands are on his back, gentle on his shoulders as his visitor perches behind him on his bed, keeping him from overbalancing onto the floor. 

“Okay, you’re alright, you’re alright,” the voice soothes. This one he recognizes. Poe.

He nods, trying to convey to Poe that yes, he is alright, but he is afraid if he answers he will hurl again, and nodding is making him dizzy so he just sits there in the aftershocks of sickness, feeling hot and achey and shivery as Poe’s hands hold him like a tether keeping him from floating away entirely.

He must sit in silence on the edge of the bed for a long time, making sure no more sickness is coming, because at last Poe says, “I think you’re alright, buddy,” and he steers Finn back, settling him down against the pillows.

“‘Sreyalright?” he slurs. His hands have fisted against the sleeves of Poe’s shirt and Poe stays close, watching him intently. “Rey? Yeah, she’s fine. It’ll take more than a little lightsaber to stop her,” he says. It was more than a little lightsaber, Finn thinks. It was Kylo Ren, and it was an imploding planet and— “Just like you. You’ll be good as new soon.” Poe smiles at him. Finn swallows a few times and nods. Yes that’s right. He remembers now the searing pain down his spine as the work of a lightsaber, all right. 

“And you’re here,” Finn croaks out, relief flooding him as the reality settles into place. Poe’s face breaks into a grin. 

“Yeah, I am buddy,” he promises. 

“Alright, Mr. Dameron, now I’m just going too-” the medic comes around the corner and catches sight of Poe. “Ah! Mr. Dameron,” he smiles, “and Mr. Dameron,” he adds, good-naturedly nodding to Finn. 

“No relation,” Finn jokes, because he doesn’t know what to say or what is going on. Both the doctor and Poe laugh and the doctor comes round the side of the bed to remove the bucket of vomit. “Well, good thing you did that before your medication,” he says, laying the packets of pills onto the table and retreating with the barrel. A sudden beeping from somewhere beyond the wall makes him almost drop the bucket of vomit. “Oh goodness!” he declares. 

“I can make sure he takes his pills, if you need to….” Poe gestures towards the alarm. The medic takes a moment to decide and then nods. “Yes, yes that would be very good. If you have any problem go right to med station B, around the corner and ask for help,” he adds. He waits for Poe to nod (Poe salutes, instead), and then he bustles out of the room looking hassled, the bucket of vomit held to his chest like a teddy bear.

“I can take my own pills” Finn huffs quietly. He feels so useless and coddled.

“Of course you can,” Poe agrees. “But sometimes friends like to help each other.”

He settles down more comfortable, stretching out his legs alongside Finn’s before he reaches for the pills from the bedside table and pulls open the plastic packaging. 

“Is that why you gave me your name?” He asks. Because he’s pretty sure that’s why he’s got it, now. 

Poe stops, pink pill between his fingers raised halfway up towards Finn’s mouth.

“I— what? Oh, well, yeah,” Poe decides, shrugging. “They use first and last name for records here,” he explains. “I thought you wouldn’t mind. I mean, we’re practically brothers,” he adds. 

Finn doesn’t mind. He doesn’t mind at all. It’s sweet and warm and makes him feel connected. Loved. Wanted.

“I don’t mind,” he promises. Poe reaches over to the bedside chair and pulls the jacket off the back. His jacket. Their jacket. He lays it over their laps like a blanket. 

Everything that he has now as a comfort, he realizes, is Poe. There is nothing left from the days of the first order. It could be,  _would_ be a happy thought, if it didn’t make him feel so damaged.

“Everything I have is you,” he says after a moment of silence, and wow, if t _hat_  didn’t sound melodramatic. He backpedals. “I mean” he tries to explain, as Poe looks at him with kind curiosity, “this jacket. My name. Now my second name.”

“Thought you didn’t mind?” Poe says gently. Somehow he has wrapped an arm around Finn’s shoulder without Finn noticing. It doesn’t hurt his back. It feels nice. 

“I don’t mind,” Finn promises. “It just makes me think… what’s left that’s me?”

Poe’s face falls. Crestfallen. “Finn,” he murmurs, and his name sounds like a request, like begging. 

Finn turns to him. Poe’s face is so open, so ernest. “Everything,” he says. “Everything you have is you. Your memories, your dreams. Ambitions. The stories you can tell. Finn, this right here is you,” he says, suddenly gripping Finn very hard by the upper arms. “You’re more than just white armor and a number.” 

Finn’s hands dig into the cool worn folds of the jacket. Poe’s hands dig into his arms. 

“Yeah,” Finn says, slowly, “Yeah.” Not really believing it but almost beginning to understand. These moments are hard. Remembering who he was and maybe who he isn’t now is enough to make the places in his head go dark and time and space seem unescapable. But he doesn’t want to escape right now. Not with Poe’s arms around him, Poe’s names on him, Poe’s jacket across their laps. 

“You’re the most you person I know,” Poe says softly. “That’s what I like about you.” 

Finn falls asleep later under the jacket. It’s a different sort of weight than the armor he is used to wearing. A more human weight. He likes this armor. It’s shaped like friendship.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everybody for the crit and comments, and for reading. I really appreciate it. :)  
> I thought I intended it as a one-shot, but I can't resist the siren call of multi-chapter fics, so onward we go, with just a short piece today.

The first thing Poe says to him when he wakes up is, "you don't have to keep it."

Finn is confused behind sleep and narcotics. "I wanna," he slurs because hey, it's his, whatever this is they're talking about and why shouldn't he? 

"Alright, keep it then" Poe says, and when Finn catches sight of him through his drug heavy lids Poe is all smiles and warmth, something sparkling in his eyes.

"Keep what?" Finn asks. He finds fuller control of his mouth. He even sits up a little on his own too— no, that's Poe power adjusting the bed up. Poe is laughing too. 

"My name, power-brains," he says. He makes a move like he's going to biff Finn on the backside of the head but he stops himself. "Better not," he decides. "But only because you’re concussed."

"How thoughtful."

"Yes, I _am_ a dear."

They sit in companionable silence for a while. Finn has nowhere to go of course -- he's injured, he's heavily medicated, he's not part of the resistance. But Poe - surely Poe has more important things to do than sit by Finn’s bedside.

"How long have you been here?" Finn asks. The jacket is still on his lap, or on his lap again.

"Today? Just a couple hours."

"You were here yesterday?"

Poe nods. "Yeah you remember. I've been here everyday," he adds. 

That's sweet, if not possibly a bit irresponsible. The idea of Poe being irresponsible just for him is... Well it's humbling anyway. 

"Oh," Finn says. "Thank you… Where's--"

"I told you, she's fine. She's on--"

"Bb-8," Finn finishes. He can't help but grin at Poe's assumption. 

"Oh. Around here somewhere. Probably trying to make friends with that R2 unit."

Finns brow furrows. The only R2 unit he knows of is R2-D2 and last he heard the droid was powered down. It had sounded serious. 

"But it can tell you all about that itself when it comes to see you tonight. It's grown pretty fond of you. Stupid droid." 

Finn has the childish urge to stick his tongue out but luckily he doesn't have to resort to that because Poe launches into the tale -- R2-D2, the map, Rey leaving on the Millennium Falcon with the wookie to look for Luke Skywalker... And Finn closes his eyes and imagines.

"That girl, I'm telling you," Poe finishes.

"What are you telling me?"

"She's tough. I'm glad she was with you when I couldn't be."

Finn looks down at the jacket on his lap and sighs. Of course, Poe is right. It _is_ a good thing he had Rey, she _has_ had his back every moment and boy, he’s needed it too... But…

  "Did I say something wrong? You're all stiff and spacey all of a sudden."

"No I'm not," Finn promises, though it is a lie. Is he ever not stiff, ever not on the verge of breaking apart and uncoiling? 

"Well," Poe says, seemingly sensing Finns thoughts, "you really stuck you'd neck out for her and returned the favor. Even if it did cost you four vertebrae."

Finn looks up momentarily distracted, to be amazed. "Really? Is _that_ why I feel like a puzzle put together wrong?"

"Oh don't say that too loud. Doctor Yana is *ahem* particularly proud of the work she was able to do for you."

"Well I'm glad to be put together at all," Finn confesses. "I thought I was more expendable than that." He says it so casually, as he sinks back against his pillows and draws the jacket up to his chin. 

"What?" Poe challenges. "Don't you dare say that, and don't you dare ever _think_ that again either, you hear me?" Finn looks at him innocently, all timid and soft. 

"I can't believe you don't understand how important you are," Poe sighs, and it's almost like he's disappointed in Finn. "It's not your fault of course" he adds, and Finn feels relief sweeping through him. He is able to loosen his grip on the coat a little anyway. "It's how they condition you to see yourselves I imagine." 

Finn just nods a little bit. He doesn't need to say anything. He can tell by the dark look that has come into Poe's eyes that Poe understands. As well as any outside of the First Order can understand anyway.

"You're worth the finest man-made bone replacements in the galaxy, just so you know, champ," he says softly. The world is pooling in greys and blues over Poe's shoulder from the hallway window. Finn doesn't feel like he needs to clasp the jacket quite to fiercely while Poe is here. 

"You mean you didn't volunteer your own spine for a transplant? I've been deceived." 

Poe rolls his eyes but he definitely smiles. A lot. A victory for Finn. Somehow Poe's smiles have started becoming very important to Finn. Collect them all.

"If you're well enough to joke you're well enough to take your medicine," Poe decides. He rips open a new plastic packet. Different pills today. A little blue one and two giant orange ones that Finn really hopes are painkillers because best in the galaxy of not his spine is starting to twinge again under his brace and Poe's smiles help a lot but maybe can't stop actual physical pain. Maybe. 

"Are you comfortable?" Poe asks from the chair as he watches Finn try to move his arm and flinch. "You really ought not to move."

"Oh I've never been better," Finn quips. Poe laughs aloud, neat teeth especially white in the medbay lights. All in all, Finn thinks, it really isn’t that far from the truth.


End file.
